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I don’t even have my cell to be able to call her and cuss the bitch out. Seething, I peel off a hundred-dollar bill from the tiny fold, then close the tin and shove it back under the mattress. Standing, I pull in a deep breath then blow it back out again. “This isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” I say aloud, needing to hear the words. “I have a job and I can make more money. Then I’ll hunt that thieving fucking bitch down and get my savings back.”
Grabbing my ratty denim jacket from the closet, I slide it on over my slutty cheerleading uniform and head out. Home Run, the bar I work at, is a ten-block walk from my apartment. Holding my jacket closed tightly the entire way, I try my best to hide my outfit from passersby. At the bar, I just look like all the other idiots wearing a costume, but out here on the street, I do my best not to catch anyone’s eye so I don’t have to explain why a grown ass woman is dressed like it’s Halloween in the middle of May.
Pushing open the door to the bar, I step inside and inhale the familiar scent of beer, wings, and desperation. At lunchtime on a Thursday, the place isn’t exactly busy, but in a couple of hours, it’ll be packed with a mix of college kids, guys getting off work, and old dudes that have been coming here since well before it became a tacky themed sports bar.
Waving to the bartenders, I head for the break room and stash my jacket in a locker. I haven’t eaten yet today and my stomach is growling as I head into the kitchen and smile at Raul, the line chef.
“Hey Raul,” I coo.
“Hey sweetness,” he coos back.
Raul is in his late forties, with a gut that hangs over his pants and a permanent smile on his face. He’s married with two kids and he works three jobs so his wife can stay home and raise their family. He’s a great guy and I know he has a soft spot for me.
“You hungry? It just so happens the printer went on the fritz a few minutes ago and an order for a grilled cheese and onion rings got put through twice. It’s only going in the trash if you don’t eat it.”
“Thank you,” I mouth.
Winking, he nods to the plate that’s sitting on the side, but we both know he made the food for me. When I started working here, I’d been living rough for a while before finally scraping together enough money to rent a room in a shitty motel for long enough to get an address to apply for jobs.
The first time Raul saw me, he filled a bowl with fries and told me to eat them. When I’d refused, letting him know I didn’t have any spare money to buy food, he’d told me they were too crispy to serve to customers and that if I didn’t eat them, they were going in the trash.
Whenever we’re on shift at the same time, it just so happens that there’s conveniently a plate that’s the wrong thing, or that is going to end up in the trash if I don’t eat it. He’s a truly wonderful fucking person.
Pressing a kiss to his cheek, I grab the plate of food and head back to the break room, flopping into the one small, uncomfortable chair and eating the delicious grilled cheese and greasy onion rings as fast as I can.
When I’m done, I load my plate into the dishwasher, then use the bathroom before heading out front for my shift. Twelve hours later, I’m sweaty, covered in beer, and exhausted, but I’m up a hundred and fifty dollars in tips and not feeling quite as hopeless as I was when I got here this afternoon.
I was supposed to have finished hours ago, but we had an entire fraternity worth of guys turn up. Whatever they were celebrating kept all of us busy, running backward and forward with pitchers and shooters all night.
“Hey, Ali, we’re having a bit of a staff meeting out here, it won’t take long,” Tony, my boss and the owner of the bar says, nodding his chin to where all the other staff are standing.
“Sure,” I say, sliding my money into my jacket pocket and following him back out to the empty bar.
“Sorry to keep you all, I know it was a busy night.” He looks a little uncomfortable as he addresses us all, rubbing at the stubble on his chin with his fingers. “Look, there’s no easy way to say it, so I’m just going to spit it out. A few weeks ago, I was approached by a company about buying the bar. As y’all know I think of this place as my baby, so I said no. But the more I said no, the more money they offered and, honestly, it got to a point where I just couldn’t say no any longer. I signed all the paperwork this morning, so this is actually my last night as your boss.”
“Are they keeping the staff?” Raul asks, fear flashing wildly in his eyes. He might work three jobs, but he works the most hours here and I know losing this job would be devastating for him and his family.
“Your job is safe, Raul, I made them promise that. But unfortunately, they wouldn’t agree to guarantee the front of house staff. So, you guys behind the bar and the wait staff, I’m really sorry, but it’ll be up to the new owners if you stay or if they let you go.”
There’s a general mumbling of discontent, but as I glance around, I’m the only one who looks like they’re going to be sick. There’re a few people who, like me, rely on this job to make rent, but the majority of the staff are students, earning a little extra money to pay for books and clothes.
“When will we know if we’re being canned?” I ask.
“Tomorrow. They’re coming in to speak to all the staff. So, if you could all be back here for nine a.m. before we open, that would be great.”
I walk home in a daze. Stumbling blindly through the door, I barely remember to lock it behind me before I fall face first into my pillow. The next morning, I walk back to the bar in a panicked mess. My life literally could not get any worse right now. In a day, I’ll be homeless unless I can find an apartment. I’m broke because my skanky ass ex-roommate stole all my money and, in an hour, I could be unemployed too.
Has life been going too well for me or something? That must be the reason that fate has stepped in and decided to fuck me raw up the ass with a knife.
Two days ago, I was skipping through life with a smile on my face. I might not have loved Monica, but our apartment was relatively safe, reasonably bug free and affordable. Waiting tables at a sports bar might not have been my dream job, but the pay was regular, the tips were good and anyone who tried to grope my ass got a one-way ticket to Andre the door man’s fist. My life might not have been the perfect apple pie American dream, but it was mine, and I liked it.
Some people have aspirations beyond surviving, but I was never destined for white picket fences. My dad was out of the picture before the cum dripping down my junkie mother’s leg had dried, and my mom picked heroin and a cardboard casket over me almost a decade ago. For a while, after she died, I lived with my mom’s sister; but Aunt Darla handed me a hundred-dollar bill and a bus ticket out of town the day I turned eighteen and I haven’t seen her since.
Things were rough for a while, but if nothing else, I’m a fighter and that’s what I’ve always done. It might not have been pretty, but I’ve always survived.
Stepping into the bar, I’m startled by just how run down and shabby the place looks when the TVs are off and the lights are all turned on. Honestly, the place looks like a shithole, and I wonder why anyone would bother to keep pushing Tony to sell-up after he turned down their first offer.
Apart from Raul, I haven’t made any real effort to get to know the people I work with. I know most of their names, but it’s pretty obvious which ones are students and which ones work here because they have no other choice. Those are the faces I look at now, the ones with fear in their eyes and hopelessness in their postures.
